


No, Really...

by PandoraCulpa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Did I Mention Crack?, Humor, M/M, Trope Subversion, Utter Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoraCulpa/pseuds/PandoraCulpa
Summary: He'd never expected coming out to be this difficult. Maybe Draco had been right after all.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 72





	No, Really...

**Author's Note:**

> Another entry for the Trope Subversion Bingo game I played with evil_whimsey and psiten. This time, Harry and Draco were the (un)lucky recipients of my attention for subverting the Mistaken For Gay trope.

He finished, and sat back. Waited for the inevitable response.

There was a pause for a beat. Two. Then, surprisingly, a hearty guffaw as Ron belted out, “Yeah, pull the other, it's got bells on! Bloody hell, Harry, that's a good one!”

Denial. He should've known Ron wouldn't be willing to hear. “No, I mean it,” Harry insisted, determined to be upfront with his best pal at last. It had taken too long already to work up the courage to confess, knowing Ron's likely reaction to his admission. “Me and Draco. We've been sleeping together for over a year. And he's moving in with me next week.”

Ron's face had gone spectacularly red. “Mate, stop it, you're killing me! Bloody hell, just the idea!...” He dissolved into helpless giggles again, and Harry cast a beseeching look to Hermione for support.

Which wasn't forthcoming. Her hands covered her mouth while her shoulders shook with silent amusement. Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, slitted tight from what he knew would be a rictus of uncontrollable mirth beneath her fingers. “I'm serious!” he shouted, and his friends' laughter only shook them harder. Beside them Seamus was coughing and choking on his butterbeer, eyes bulging as he pounded the table with a freckled fist.

“Don't _do_ that while I'm taking a drink!” Seamus finally managed, grinning like a lunatic. “You trying to kill me or something?”

Even Ginny was skeptical. “That's too much of a stretch, Harry,” she told him. “If you really wanted to fool us, you'd have to make it something at least a _little_ believable.” A chorus of agreement rose around the table, and Harry stared at them all in shock.

Fuck. He'd never expected coming out to be this difficult. Maybe Draco had been right after all.

~*~

“I spoke with Astoria today, darling,” his mother said, neatly snipping a white rose from its stem and placing it in the vase at her elbow. “We agreed that a winter wedding would be lovely, snow and furs, and the crisp air gives your cheeks such a fetching touch of color. Don't you agree?”

“Mother,” Draco said through clenched teeth. “I've told you a thousand times, I have no intention of marrying Astoria.”

She weighed another blossom in her hand, as if he'd never spoken, examining it with a critical eye before dismissing it as somehow flawed and releasing it to bob gently on the bush. “She wanted mauve for the bridesmaids, but I talked her out of it. It's such a common colour, and claret suits you both far better.” The shears closed, and another flower joined the first in the vase.

His head ached. Probably from the teeth-grinding. “Once again, I don't care, because there won't _be_ a wedding. Mother, I am _gay_. Queer as a copper Galleon.”

Another rose fell to the shears, and Narcissa graced him with a dazzling smile. “Of course you're not, dearest. You want an heir.”

“No, Mother, _you_ want an heir. _I_ want a fit bloke to shag. No wedding, no offspring, and definitely _no women_. I like _men_. For god's sake, Potter's been buggering me for ages now, and I've never been happier!”

Two more roses. “Perhaps the villa in Milan would make an appropriate wedding gift,” she mused, adding a few sprigs of baby's breath to the arrangement. “You've always loved Italy.”

This wasn't working. “I love cock!” Draco declared, rather louder than he'd intended, but desperation lent volume to his words. “Big, throbbing pricks! In my arse! I'm a cockwhore, Mother!”

“Manners, dear,” she replied mildly, replacing the shears on the garden bench and whisking the vase off to the house with a graceful wave of her wand. Winding an arm through his, Narcissa tilted her head upon his shoulder and began leading him back toward the Manor, utterly content. “Your new bride won't want to hear such language out of you.”

“Cocks,” Draco mumbled disconsolately, and his mother patted his hand.

~*~

As planned, Draco was waiting to meet him in the steps of Gringotts. One glance was all it took to confirm Harry's suspicions. “You too?”

Draco nodded, utterly dejected. “She never heard a word I said.”

His shoulders slumped. “Same. Even the Prophet. They told me, and I quote, 'We can't print rubbish like that! Who would believe us?' Can you believe it? All the outright lies they've published, and we hand them the story of the century...” Harry paused, still seething at the injustice, but Draco grabbed his arms quite suddenly, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“If no one will listen, let's show them.” The expression on Draco's face was manic, reckless. He leaned in closer, breath hot against Harry's neck, making his pulse race as lips brushed his ear. “Give them unequivocal proof, something they can't possibly ignore.”

His hands had found their way to Draco's hips, thumbs stroking the jut of bone through the fine linen of his trousers, the familiar electricity sparking along his skin. “You have something in mind?” he murmured, dipping his head to nip at the pale line of his lover's throat and enjoying the moan that followed.

“Fuck me,” Draco demanded in a voice raw with desire. “Right here, right now. In front of the whole damn Alley, let them see...”

Buttons and laces were unfastening, seemingly by will alone, clothing loosening and falling away before their caresses. “Yes,” Harry managed, before Draco's mouth was on his, hands thick in his hair. The stone steps were a discomfort he never felt, lost as he was in sensation of soft skin against his, the tight heat that drew him in, the encouraging cries of his lover echoing off the storefronts. Balls deep inside of Draco, the afternoon sun warm on his bare arse, he hoped the whole damned world was watching as he thrust, and thrust and _thrust_...

~*~

The next morning, there was a crowd around the newspaper stand beside the Leaky Cauldron. Harry and Draco shared a triumphant smile, hands tightening in their clasp. Pressing through the throng, Draco was ridiculously eager to see the salacious headline sure to be emblazoned across the front page. Would it be wailing about moral indecency? Broken-hearted witches across Britain? Maybe bitter suspicion that he had tainted or ensorcelled the wizarding world's great hero?

Ooh, he couldn't _wait_.

All at once, Harry pulled up short, swearing. Craning his neck around the fat fellow in front of him to see what had shocked his lover, Draco's eyes widened for a moment as he finally caught sight of the newsstand, before falling shut in dismay.

__

_**Hero Harry Potter Takes Up New Vocation As Performance Artist!** _

__

__

_Shoppers in Diagon Alley were treated to a surprise yesterday as Harry Potter, Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor, unveiled his first exhibit right on the steps of Gringotts. Already, art critics are debating the meaning of the performance, and gallery owners are fighting for the chance to offer the nascent artist both studio and installation space._

_“Such a powerful statement!” gushed Gladys Mimbletorte, of Surrey, who was shopping at Twillfit and Tatting's and witnessed the performance. “I only wish my mum had been along to see, she's his biggest fan!”_

_Narcissa Malfoy, the mother of Mr. Potter's assistant in yesterday's performance piece, declared that she is proud of her son Draco's commitment to the arts, and further states that his fiance, Astoria Greengrass, is overwhelmed with excitement at seeing her husband-to-be in such a role._

_“I do hope Draco passes his love of art on to our future children,” Miss Greengrass is quoted as saying. “Cultural pursuits such as his should be nourished. Why, perhaps one day he'll create works of his own!”_

_But not all his admirers were so supportive. “I hope he'll get a real job,” mourned Molly Weasley, who has known the young hero since his Hogwarts days. “He can't support my Ginny on an artist's salary, now can he?”_

_Witches from all over are queuing up to offer their services to the boy hero-turned-artist, in hopes of catching his eye for his next performance piece..._

Draco opened his eyes again, turning to Harry with some measure of trepidation. They stared at one another for a long moment, before Harry shrugged, defeat plain on his face. 

“Fuck this,” he said at last. “Let's just elope to France.” 


End file.
